


Of Cabbages and Kings

by riventhorn



Category: Merlin BBC
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-10
Updated: 2011-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-15 17:25:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/163123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riventhorn/pseuds/riventhorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Merlin makes the mistake of tempting fate and finds himself in a fairytale world surrounded by monsters, witches, and one very annoying Pendragon. Written for rotrude for the merlin_holidays fest on lj.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Cabbages and Kings

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended, no profit is being made from this

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves  
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:  
All mimsy were the borogoves,  
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!  
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!  
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun  
The frumious Bandersnatch!"  
He took his vorpal sword in hand:  
Long time the manxome foe he sought --  
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,  
And stood awhile in thought.  
And, as in uffish thought he stood,  
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,  
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,  
And burbled as it came!  
One, two! One, two! And through and through  
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!  
He left it dead, and with its head  
He went galumphing back.  
"And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?  
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!  
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'  
He chortled in his joy.

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves  
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;  
All mimsy were the borogoves,  
And the mome raths outgrabe.’  
-“Jabberwocky” by Lewis Carroll

 

Merlin peered into the rearview mirror, checking to make sure his cap was on straight, before climbing out of the limousine. Today could not possibly be as bad as yesterday. It simply couldn’t. He needed this job.

Things had started out deceptively smoothly the day before. He had rolled up to the Pendragons’ mansion a good ten minutes early, and when Arthur Pendragon had walked out the door—well, suffice it to say that Merlin’s enthusiasm for chauffeuring him around had increased markedly. Although really, Arthur couldn’t be more than nineteen—no older than Merlin—it was ridiculous that he had a limousine to drive him about town. But Merlin had kept these thoughts to himself. “I’m Merlin,” he had said brightly, holding out his hand.

Arthur’s gaze had traveled slowly from Merlin’s hand up to his face. “Is that some kind of joke?” he had demanded.

“Um, no,” Merlin had replied, lowering his hand. “Do you mean because your name is Arthur? I swear I really am called Merlin. It’s kind of a funny story, really, how my mum picked that name. You see—”

“Just shut up and open the door,” Arthur had snapped, and Merlin’s enthusiasm had plummeted once again.

Things didn’t improve. It turned out that he was supposed to have picked Arthur up a coffee, and when Arthur found out that he hadn’t, he spent two minutes berating Merlin before ordering him to stop and get one. Parking limousines was an absolute bitch. Then he got lost and had to ask Arthur for directions, which Arthur delivered in a sneering tone, accompanied by a variety of insults. And then Merlin had slammed too hard on the breaks, spilling the hard-won coffee all over Arthur’s trousers. Arthur had yelled at him, and Merlin finally had yelled back, calling Arthur, among other things, a prat, a dollop-head, and an entitled ass.

But today, things would be different. He had picked up the coffee—made precisely to Arthur’s exacting specifications. He had spent an hour studying maps last night, so he was sure not to get lost. And no matter what Arthur said, he would grit his teeth and smile. Providing Arthur didn’t tell him he was fired as soon as he walked out the door.

When Arthur appeared, he glanced at Merlin and grimaced, but didn’t say a word. Merlin offered a silent prayer of thanks, handed Arthur his coffee, and then slid into the driver’s seat. He checked the rearview mirror quite often as he pulled out of the driveway. Arthur might be an annoying git, but he was also quite fit, and the t-shirt he was wearing showed off his muscles. Arthur sipped his coffee, told Merlin it had too much sugar, and then unfolded a newspaper, holding it up in front of his face. Merlin sighed and turned his attention back to the road.

They were stuck in traffic, and Merlin was staring glumly out the window, wishing that he was still home in bed or having a leisurely breakfast—preferably waffles—or stepping into his favorite bookshop to browse the new releases—basically anywhere but behind the wheel of a limo stuffed in an uncomfortable uniform. The traffic suddenly opened up a bit, and Merlin pressed on the gas, and the next thing he knew, the cars and tall buildings had vanished, and the limo was hurtling through an open field, heading straight for a giant mushroom. A giant _blue_ mushroom.

Merlin slammed on the brakes, and the limo skidded to a halt. There was an irritated noise from the backseat, but Arthur stayed buried in his newspaper.

Blinking, Merlin stared out at the mushroom. It must have been four feet tall and was indeed a garish blue color. Merlin pinched his arm—hard. The mushroom stayed put. He glanced out the side window. A few more mushrooms were scattered about in the grass of the meadow. A line of trees marked the beginnings of a forest. Merlin looked out the other window. More mushrooms and…was that a _dragon_ sitting on one of them?

It was. Not a large dragon, but definitely a dragon. It had shiny green and gold scales that shimmered in the sunlight. As Merlin watched, it took out what appeared to be a pocket-watch, glanced at it, and then peered at the limo, tapping its claws impatiently.

“Where the hell are we?” Arthur suddenly demanded. He had put down the newspaper and was now glaring at Merlin.

“I—I don’t know,” Merlin replied, loosening his collar nervously.

“You don’t know,” Arthur repeated. “Do you mean to say you’ve gotten lost _again_?”

“No!” Merlin protested. “That is—I’m not quite sure what’s happened. One minute we were there, and then the next minute we were…here.” He waved a hand at the mushroom.

“That is a mushroom,” Arthur said slowly. “It is a _blue_ mushroom.”

“Yes. There are a few more of them out that way. And there’s a dragon, sitting atop one.”

Arthur looked. “What the fuck was in that coffee you gave me?” he demanded, reaching forward and grabbing Merlin’s jacket.

“Nothing!” Merlin struggled out of his grip. “I didn’t do anything, I swear!” Well, he had been wishing he was somewhere else. And strange things had a way of happening around him. But—no. No, he couldn’t have done this.

Arthur was breathing heavily. He sat back and picked up his newspaper. “Then this is a dream,” he announced and stared determinedly at the op-ed column.

“It’s not a dream,” Merlin muttered. He looked at the dragon again. It was looking decidedly annoyed, and steam was rising from its nostrils. Merlin unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the door. “I’m going to talk to the dragon,” he announced. Arthur did not reply.

The dragon regarded him silently as he approached. He stopped when there was still a fair distance between them, wondering anxiously about flames and the chances of being burned to a crisp. The dragon twitched its claws, beckoning him to come closer, and he hesitantly obeyed.

“Um, hello,” he said.

“Greetings, Merlin,” the dragon replied. It had a very thick accent that made it hard to understand. Merlin supposed it was a bit difficult trying to talk when you had a snout and fangs.

“You, uh, know my name then?”

“Oh, yes.” The dragon chuckled.

“Right.” Merlin swallowed hard. “And who are you?”

“I am an M. S. Harry,” the dragon said—at least, Merlin thought that was what it said; he really could hardly understand it.

“M. S. Harry?” he repeated, puzzled.

“ _Emissary_!” the dragon hissed. “Emissary!” A tongue of flame licked out of its jaw.

“Oh!” Merlin jumped. “Right. Sorry.” He shuffled his feet nervously. “Whose emissary?”

“Cliodhna, the queen of this land, sent me, as she was unable to come herself.”

“Why?”

“Because she is trapped in a foul and evil enchantment,” the dragon replied.

“Who enchanted her?” Merlin glanced over his shoulder at the limo. Meeting a dragon was all well and good, but he wished it would hurry up its story. He _really_ needed to figure out a way to get back to their world before Arthur fired him in a fit of pique.

“Anfauglir the Black—a most cunning and crafty sorcerer. Not only did he trap our queen, he also set loose a fearsome monster to trouble our land.”

“I’m sorry,” Merlin said. “Why did he do that?”

The dragon sighed heavily. “The politics of fairyland are quite intricate. If you really wish me to give you the details…”

“No, no, that’s all right,” Merlin said hastily.

“In any case, what matters is that you are here,” the dragon continued. “You must break the enchantment and free Queen Cliodhna.”

“Me?” Merlin shook his head. “Look, I’m very sorry, but—”

“Only our queen has the power to return you to your world,” the dragon said, cutting him off. “You must free her or you shall be trapped as well.”

“But I _can’t_!” Merlin protested. “I can’t break a spell! Don’t you have to be a sorcerer to do that?”

“Which is exactly what you are.”

“No. No, you’ve got the wrong person.” Merlin took a step backwards. “I’m not a sorcerer.”

The dragon gave him a very knowing look. “Is that so?”

Merlin thought of the many odd things that had happened over the years—the fireplace suddenly flaring to life when he had been feeling a bit chilly, the door to his flat unlocking when he had been standing outside in the rain having forgotten his keys, that time with the goblin that he was _sure_ had been a hallucination brought on by letting Will talk him into drinking far too much whisky one night. The feeling that there was something missing inside him.

“You’re saying I can do magic?” he said slowly.

“There’s no need for me to say it—it’s a fact,” the dragon replied.

“But even if I can do magic, I don’t know any spells!” Merlin threw up his hands. “So I can’t rescue your queen, much less kill this monster.”

“You know many spells, Merlin,” the dragon said. “You have simply forgotten them. And as for the Jabberwock— _you_ cannot kill it. The spells that created it are too powerful, even for you. That task belongs to your friend.” It nodded in the direction of the limo.

“ _Arthur_?” Merlin said, incredulous. “Arthur is supposed to kill the monster?” He paused, frowning. “Wait. Did you call it a Jabberwock? That’s not possible—that’s a poem by Lewis Carroll!”

The dragon snorted. “You of all people, Merlin, should not be debating what is possible and what is not. Besides, Anfauglir the Black happens to have a fondness for nineteenth century British literature. It could have been worse,” the dragon added. “Just think if he had gotten his hands on _Beowulf_.”

“Well, a Jabberwock doesn’t sound much better,” Merlin snapped. “And there’s no way Arthur is going to be able to kill it. He won’t even get out of the limo!”

“Arthur is the only one who can wield the vorpal sword that can pierce the magic binding the Jabberwock to life. You must help him find the sword.” The dragon pointed across the meadow. “I suggest heading in that direction. And as for getting out of the limo, he had better do so.” It pulled out its pocket-watch again. “Very shortly, the Jabberwock will be arriving. I suggest that the both of you flee the premises.”

“But—wait!” Merlin cried as the dragon flapped its wings and started rising into the air. “You can’t just leave me here! I need to know more!”

The dragon ignored him and quickly disappeared over the tree tops.

Merlin groaned. “You just had to tempt fate, didn’t you?” he muttered to himself. “You just had to say that today couldn’t _possibly_ be worse than yesterday.” Sighing, he started back towards the limo. How he was going to explain this to Arthur, he really didn’t know.

Arthur had not moved. He cautiously lowered the newspaper when Merlin climbed into the limo, but then snapped it up again.

“Arthur,” Merlin said, and then repeated it a little more loudly, “ _Arthur_.”

“Go away!” Arthur snapped. “I’m not going to acknowledge you. Or any of this. If I don’t, it will all disappear, and I’ll be back home.”

“Arthur, this isn’t a dream.” Merlin tugged the newspaper from his hands. “This is real, and we have to get out of here because a monster is coming.”

“You’re right, this isn’t a dream—it’s a nightmare.” Arthur crossed his arms over his chest. “I am _not_ getting out of this car.”

“Fine!” Merlin snapped. “Fine. Stay here and get eaten by the Jabberwock!”

“The Jabberwock?” Arthur raised his eyebrows. “You do know that’s a work of fiction?”

“Not here. Here the Jabberwock is a real, live monster that you have to kill.”

“Me?” Arthur laughed. “How? Throw my shoe at it?”

“No.” Merlin gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to simply grab Arthur’s collar and drag him out of the damn limo. “We have to go find a sword. And then I have to end the spell that is holding the queen of this land a prisoner so that she can send us home. _That_ is how we are getting back.”

“You are insane. You are insane, and I’m not going to listen to this any longer.” And Arthur turned away and searched through his jacket pockets, finally pulling out his iPod.

“Arthur, we have to get out of here!” Merlin shouted, making a grab for the iPod. Arthur snatched it away.

“Fuck off,” he snarled.

Merlin breathed heavily through his nose and then jerked open the door. “I’m going,” he said. “Stay here then and get eaten!” Arthur ignored him.

Muttering angrily, Merlin strode away across the meadow, heading in the direction the dragon had pointed. He’d wait around in the forest for a while, let Arthur get nervous, then go back and see if he could talk some sense into him. He had just reached the trees when the ground trembled. Merlin paused. He felt the tremor again. He hoped it wasn’t an earthquake—that really would be the last straw.

He could hear something, too—a sort of howling. It rose and fell on the wind, sending shivers up his back. The ground shook again, harder.

Suddenly, he realized what it must be. Turning, he started running back towards the limo. “Arthur!” he shouted desperately. “Arthur get out of there!”

He was still far away when the Jabberwock broke out of the trees. It was hideous and terrifying—a scaly body with stunted wings and a long tail, a serpentine neck that ended in a head crowned with twisted horns. It opened its mouth and howled again. Merlin could see its fangs. Sharp claws dug into the ground. It was heading straight for the limousine.

A second later, the door opened and Arthur stumbled out. He stared at the Jabberwock, frozen in shock.

“Arthur!” Merlin screamed again, and his shout galvanized Arthur, who started running towards him. But he wasn’t fast enough—the Jabberwock was closing in too quickly. It was momentarily distracted by the limousine and paused, ripping open the roof with a casual swipe of its paw, slicing through the metal as easily as if it were a piece of cheese. Snarling, it swung its tail around, hitting the limo, and sending it tumbling end over end. Then it spotted Arthur.

Merlin didn’t think—couldn’t think. But suddenly he was raising his hand, strange words coming out of his mouth. A ball of flame shot out, heading for the Jabberwock. It shrieked in surprise and ducked out of the way. It stopped, looking warily at Merlin.

Arthur reached him, eyes wide with fear, and Merlin grabbed him, started tugging him towards the forest. “Come on! That won’t stop it for long.”

They reached the trees, and Merlin pulled Arthur into a stand of thick bushes, ignoring the thorns that ripped at their clothes. Trying not to breathe loudly, they crouched in the midst of the leaves, listening to the Jabberwock prowling around. Slowly, the sounds receded, and finally silence fell.

Merlin turned to find Arthur staring at him.

“What did you do?” Arthur asked in a low voice. “You raised your hand and—and—”

“I don’t know,” Merlin replied. He was trembling from the adrenaline, the shock of having a bloody _fireball_ bursting from his hands. “The dragon said I could do magic, and weird things have a way of happening around me, but…” He trailed off, staring down at his hands.

“Weird things?” Arthur grabbed his collar and jerked Merlin around to face him. “Did _you_ bring us here?”

“No! Well,” Merlin futilely tried to pry Arthur’s fingers off, “I was sort of wishing I was somewhere else, and then we _were_ , but I think—”

“Take us back!” Arthur shook him. “If you’re magic, take us back!”

“I can’t.” Merlin tore away, leaving Arthur glaring at him. “I don’t know how. And the dragon said only Queen Cliodhna has the power to send us back.”

“Tell me everything it said,” Arthur demanded, and Merlin did, stuttering a little under Arthur’s furious gaze.

“This is ridiculous,” Arthur said bitterly when Merlin had finished. He stood up, brushing dirt off his knees. Sighing, he stared at the trees for a few minutes before giving Merlin another glare. “Well what are you waiting for? Let’s go find the sword.” And he strode off into the forest.

Merlin scrambled after him. “So you believe it then? You believe that this is real?”

“It doesn’t seem I have a choice,” Arthur replied in a grim tone.

“It will be all right,” Merlin told him. “We’ll get home.”

“Just shut up,” Arthur muttered. “The only thing worse than being stuck in this place with a monster on the loose is being stuck here with _you_.”

Hurt, Merlin subsided, and fell back to walk behind Arthur.

**

The afternoon wore on as they trudged along. They had found a faint path, which seemed to be leading in the direction the dragon had told them to go, so they decided to follow it. Although Merlin kept expecting to hear the Jabberwock’s howl and see it charging out of the trees, it did not return. Indeed, the forest was practically silent about them, only a few birds calling out to one another. It seemed strangely cold—flowers grew among the grasses and green leaves decorated the trees, but Merlin was soon shivering. Arthur looked cold as well—he had on his jacket, but it wasn’t a very warm one.

The cold made Arthur grumpy, and he also began complaining about being hungry.

“I don’t keep sandwiches in my pockets!” Merlin finally snapped at him.

Arthur scowled. “You look perfectly ridiculous, wandering about in that uniform.”

“Why, would you prefer me naked?” Merlin retorted, although he did feel silly walking through the forest in a chauffeur’s outfit.

To his surprise, Arthur blushed, but he said, “ _No_. I just wish you would do something useful. I’m hungry—can’t you conjure up something to eat?”

“I told you, I don’t know how I’m doing the magic.” Merlin took off his cap and ran a hand through his hair. “We’ll just have to keep our eyes open for berries or something.”

Arthur snorted in disgust and fell silent.

They hadn’t gone far before they spotted a small, wooden hut through the trees. A tangled garden surrounded it, choked with weeds. After an exchange of furious whispers, Arthur decided to go knock on the door, despite Merlin’s feeling that it was a bad idea. In his opinion, the hut looked exactly like the sort of place a witch would live.

No one answered the door, and after waiting a minute, Arthur tried the handle. It opened, and the door swung inward, creaking.

“Arthur, I really don’t think we should go in,” Merlin said, glancing over his shoulder.

“Don’t you smell that?” Arthur asked, sniffing the air. “It smells like fresh bread.” He sniffed again. “And chicken. We might be able to find something to eat.”

Reluctantly, Merlin followed Arthur into the hut. It was silent and empty but for a wooden table and two chairs. The table was covered with food—cooked chicken, fresh bread, luscious peaches, and a frosted cake. Arthur immediately grabbed a piece of bread.

“Arthur, don’t eat that!” Merlin said sharply, and Arthur paused.

“Why not? It isn’t moldy.”

“Don’t you think it’s a little odd to find this here?” Merlin demanded. “It might be enchanted. Who knows what will happen if you eat it.”

Arthur scoffed. “Nonsense. I’m sure whoever lives here just stepped out for a moment. And I’m _really_ hungry.” And he took a bite of the bread.

Merlin held his breath, and even Arthur seemed to be waiting nervously. But after a few seconds, when nothing happened, he flashed Merlin a smug smile and then sat down in one of the chairs. He picked up a peach and began eating it, juice dripping down his fingers.

Merlin’s own mouth was watering, and his stomach growled. He had just settled onto the other chair and was reaching for a fork, when Arthur’s eyes suddenly slid closed, and his head fell onto the table with a thunk.

“Arthur!” Merlin leaped up and grabbed his arm, shaking him. “Arthur, are you all right?”

Anxiously, he put his fingers on Arthur’s throat, fearing the worst. But Arthur’s heartbeat thudded strongly. Merlin shook him again. “Arthur, wake up!”

But Arthur didn’t wake. He didn’t wake when Merlin slapped him. He didn’t wake when Merlin pinched his arm.

Merlin sank back down into the chair and stared morosely at Arthur’s peaceful countenance. What was he going to do now? He couldn’t carry Arthur, but he couldn’t leave him here, either.

He was just starting to consider trying some magic, although he hadn’t the faintest clue where to begin, when the door opened. Merlin sprang to his feet, gripping one of the bread knives in his hand.

A woman appeared, long hair framing a pale face. She wore a white gown, with no ornamentation beyond a dark red stone that hung from a chain around her neck. In her arms, she carried a leather-bound book, its pages held together with a piece of twine.

“The handsome ones are always so easy to bewitch,” she murmured, looking at Arthur. She raised her eyes to meet Merlin’s and smiled. “I see you have managed to avoid my trap.”

“Who are you?” Merlin demanded, edging around the table so that he was standing between her and Arthur. “I’m not going to let you hurt him.”

“I don’t mean your king any harm,” she replied. “But I _am_ a witch. So few people pass by this way—I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to try out one of my spells.” She peeked round Merlin’s shoulder at Arthur. “It does seem to have worked splendidly.”

Merlin slowly lowered the knife. “Why did you call him a king?”

“I see you have forgotten much,” the witch said, and she held out the book. “Perhaps this will help you remember.”

Hesitantly, Merlin took the book from her hands. “What is it?”

“A spell book. You shall need it to free our queen.” She gestured out the window. “Already, the magic is being sapped from the land. The weather is growing colder, the plants dying. And the Jabberwock and the other monsters are spreading fear and destruction.” She laid her hand on Merlin’s arm. “You must hurry.”

“But I don’t know if I can,” Merlin protested. “And Arthur—how is he supposed to fight the Jabberwock?”

“Do not underestimate your king. Or yourself,” the witch replied, and she turned away, walking towards the door.

“Wait!” Merlin called after her. “What about Arthur? How do I wake him?”

The witch looked over her shoulder. “How are people usually woken from an enchanted sleep?” She winked and stepped over the threshold.

Merlin gaped after her for a moment and then rushed to the door. “You can’t be serious, I—” But the garden was empty. The witch had vanished.

Groaning, Merlin went back inside. Arthur was still fast asleep. He stared down at him for a moment, and finally set the book down with a sigh. “This is going to be the second time I’ve saved your sorry arse,” he commented, hauling Arthur into a sitting position. Arthur’s head lolled forward, and Merlin cupped it in his hands. “I wish you really wanted me to do this,” he whispered before bending down and pressing his lips to Arthur’s.

Arthur’s skin was warm under his fingers, and he couldn’t help sliding his fingers up to brush against Arthur’s soft hair. He felt Arthur’s mouth move against his and quickly pulled back. Arthur was blinking up at him in confusion. “What happened?” he asked, staring around the room.

“You didn’t listen to me is what happened,” Merlin told him. “I warned you not to eat the food, but no, no, you knew best of course.”

“It _was_ enchanted?” Arthur stood up quickly, backing away from the table.

“Yes. The witch who did it dropped by while you were asleep and gave me this spell book.” Merlin decided to leave out a few of her other comments—such as calling Arthur a king and that offhanded remark about _other_ monsters.

“And did you—did you _kiss_ me to wake me up?” Arthur’s voice rose an octave, and a blush started creeping up his neck.

“Yep.” Merlin grinned. “Just like a princess.”

Arthur glared at him, still blushing.

Merlin could have teased him some more, but decided to be merciful and picked up the book instead. He undid the twine around it and carefully opened its pages. The ink was faded, the paper yellowed with age.

“Well that won’t do us any good,” Arthur said, looking over Merlin’s arm at the book. “Unless you can read whatever language it’s written in.”

“I _can_ read it,” Merlin said slowly. Part of him looked at the words and saw only gibberish, but another part understood the spells—recognized words, knew how they would feel on his tongue.

He could feel Arthur staring at him, and he shut the book, tucking it under his arm. “Come on. We should get going. Unless you want to wait for the witch to return.”

“No,” Arthur said hastily. “I’ve had enough of witches.”

“You did make a lovely princess, though,” Merlin mused and ducked out of the way, laughing, when Arthur tried to cuff him round the head.

**

They walked on until the sun sank behind the trees.

“I suppose we should stop for the night,” Merlin said, looking around for a likely spot. “The path is so faint—I’m afraid we’ll lose it if we keep walking much longer.”

“Fine,” Arthur said grudgingly. They clambered down a small embankment that offered at least some protection from the wind. Merlin started gathering dead wood and bits of grass.

“I thought I’d try making a fire,” he explained.

“How? Rubbing two sticks together?” Arthur said, scowling and huddling deeper into his jacket. It had grown colder as night fell, and they were both shivering.

“No. With my magic.”

Arthur brightened at the thought of getting a bit warmer and helped Merlin gather wood. They crouched down next to the pile, and Arthur stared at Merlin hopefully. Merlin swallowed and rubbed his hands together.

“Right.” He took a deep breath and held his fingers over the wood. He pictured flames leaping into existence. Nothing happened.

Arthur’s face fell, and he sat back. “I thought you were actually going to do something right for once,” he muttered.

Merlin glared at Arthur, and then back at the wood. He knew he could do this. Relaxing, he closed his eyes, letting himself drift. He had never tried to actually touch his magic before—not consciously. Perhaps he could feel something, deep within himself. If he could just draw it out—  
He felt his lips move, a word fall from his mouth, “ _Baerne_.”

He heard Arthur gasp. Opening his eyes, he looked down to see flames licking at the wood. “I did it!” he exclaimed, leaning closer to hold his hands over the welcome warmth.

“I guess you aren’t completely useless,” Arthur said, shifting closer to the fire. He cleared his throat. “And Merlin—thank you. For earlier. With the Jabberwock and the witch.”

“Well, it is part of my contract,” Merlin said, smiling. “Don’t let your passenger get torn apart by monsters or enchanted by witches.”

Arthur laughed. “Why are you driving a limousine anyway?” He glanced at Merlin. “I can’t say that you seemed too thrilled about it.”

Merlin shrugged. “I need the money. I’m trying to save up to go to university.”

“I’m going next month,” Arthur said. “Well, that was the plan anyway.” He sighed, looking out at the dark trees that surrounded them, pressing in close. “What do you want to study?”

“Journalism.” Merlin tossed another stick onto the fire. “What about you?”

“Not sure.” Arthur sighed again. “My dad wants me to go into business, but I rather fancy law or perhaps political science. Of course, it might be a moot point now.”

“Don’t say that.” Merlin studied Arthur’s face, noting the tightness around his mouth and eyes. “We’ll be fine. We’ll get out of this.”

“You saw that thing,” Arthur replied in a low voice. “How am I supposed to face that? I’ve never held a sword in my life.”

“Well, you play football, right?” He had picked up Arthur from practice the day before and had practically driven into a mailbox when Arthur stripped off his sweat-soaked shirt in the backseat and shrugged on a clean one.

Arthur gave him a disbelieving look. “How is football going to help against a Jabberwock?”

“You’re fast on your feet. Agile.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Right. My skills at scoring goals are going to defeat a fairytale monster. Of course, how obvious.” He shook his head. “Maybe we can just skip that part. I mean, now that we know you can do magic, you’ll be able to free the queen and that will be that.”

“Maybe.” Merlin picked up the spell book. “I should probably start looking for the spell that will break the enchantment.”

Arthur remained sitting by the fire for a while, but finally he moved to the base of a tree where some leaves had drifted and lay down, curling into a ball. Merlin’s own eyes were feeling heavy, the effects of the entire day catching up to him. He yawned and closed the book, then tried to find a comfortable spot of his own.

“Arthur?” he said after a few minutes. “Are you asleep?”

“No.” He heard Arthur shifting around. “I’m too fucking cold.”

Merlin hesitated. “We could, um, sleep together. Not together, I mean, but, well—”

“Shut up and get over here,” Arthur said.

There were a few awkward moments with elbows and legs and hands, but they finally ended up with Arthur pressed against Merlin’s back. Arthur put a wary arm around him, and Merlin moved a little closer. “We can switch during the night,” he murmured.

“All right.” Arthur’s breath tickled his ear. In other circumstances, Merlin would have been nervous, on edge, and completely turned on, but right now he was so tired that all he could manage was to tuck Arthur’s hand into his jacket before falling asleep.

**

Merlin woke slowly. A tree root was poking him in the ribs and his back was freezing. But his face was pressed against something warm and soft. Opening his eyes, he realized it was Arthur’s hair. He had one leg thrown across Arthur’s, and his arms tight around Arthur’s shoulders. Arthur was pressed against him, his face buried in Merlin’s neck.

He pulled back just a little—enough to see Arthur’s face. Arthur was still asleep, his mouth open, and he’d drooled on Merlin’s jacket. Smiling, Merlin brushed his fingers across Arthur’s cheek. “Hey,” he said softly. “Time to wake up, Arthur.”

Arthur made an unhappy noise and snuggled closer.

“Not a morning person, are you?” He shook Arthur’s shoulder. “Come on. Rise and shine.”

Arthur groaned and opened his eyes. He blinked in a puzzled manner, frowning as he stared at Merlin’s face. “Merlin? What’s going on?” He shifted, and Merlin reluctantly pulled his arms away.

Arthur sat up, running a hand through his hair, dislodging a few sticks. The puzzled look faded, and Arthur’s shoulders slumped. “We’re still here then,” he said dully. “I’d hoped it really had been a dream.”

Merlin forced a laugh. “I’m afraid you’ll have to suffer through my company for another day.”

“I don’t mind that,” Arthur said quietly, not looking at him. “I didn’t mean what I said yesterday.”

“I know.” Merlin struggled to his feet. The sun was just touching the tops of the trees, but a mist still lay over the ground. He offered his hand to Arthur. “Ready?”

Arthur looked up and managed a small smile. He took Merlin’s hand and clambered to his feet. He didn’t let go immediately, and Merlin glanced down at their joined hands. Arthur flushed and pulled away. “I think there’s a stream over there,” he said. “I’m going to wash my face at least.”

Merlin followed him and they crouched on the bank, sputtering as the cold water splashed against their skin. They took long drinks, too, and Merlin hunted among the bushes, finally coming up with a handful of berries.

“Do you think they’re safe?” Arthur asked doubtfully.

“They could almost be raspberries,” Merlin said. “Except for the color.”

“Blue.” Arthur sighed. “Why does everything have to be blue?”

Merlin popped one of the berries in his mouth. “I like blue.”

“You would.” Arthur ate one as well.

Nothing happened, so they polished off the small handful Merlin had collected, and then headed back to the path.

**

As they walked on, the ground grew rockier and more open. The tall trees of the forest disappeared, replaced by stunted and twisted ones with shriveled leaves. The remains of flowers and bushes could be seen along the path, but they were all dead and wilted. Instead, strange plants grew in their place. Their leaves were an odd, dark purple color, and slimy tendrils curled along the stems.

“What are these?” Arthur said, looking at them in disgust.

“Slithy toves, perhaps?” Merlin answered. “I’m serious!” he added when Arthur rolled his eyes. “And look at the sky—that weird, yellow color—‘brillig’ seems like an apt description for it.”

“About the poem,” Arthur paused and then said quickly, “the Jabberwock isn’t the only monster.”

“I know.” Merlin sighed. “The witch mentioned something about other monsters. The Jubjub bird and frumious Bandersnatch I suppose.”

Arthur stopped and grabbed Merlin’s arm. “And just when were you going to share that piece of information with me?” he demanded.

“I didn’t want to upset you,” Merlin began, reaching out a placating hand, but Arthur stepped away.

“ _Upset_ me? We’re stuck in this—this mad world. There’s a monster roaming around that could make mincemeat out of us, and you were worried about _upsetting_ me?”

“I’m sorry!” Merlin reached out again, but Arthur just stared at his hand coldly before stalking past and continuing down the path. Sighing, Merlin plodded after him.

“I really am sorry,” he tried again awhile later as they clambered down a steep slope, slipping on loose rocks and pebbles.

“What else aren’t you telling me?” Arthur demanded, ignoring the steadying hand Merlin offered him.

“The witch called you a king. I don’t know why.” Merlin gave Arthur a hopeful smile. “No more secrets, I promise.”

“My name might be Arthur—that doesn’t mean I’m actually a king!” Arthur scowled. “I don’t know how to wield a sword or fight monsters or any of it!”

“I know, but—”

“No, you don’t. You have magic. You’re as much a freak as the rest of this place.”

Merlin flinched and gave Arthur a reproachful look. For a second Arthur looked guilty, but then his face hardened. “Come on,” he said, “the quicker we find this sword, the faster this nightmare will be over.”

“Fine,” Merlin bit out, and he pushed past Arthur, walking swiftly ahead.

He was so busy thinking up choice insults to hurl at Arthur that he never even heard trouble approaching. Suddenly a shrill squawk sounded, and Arthur was yelling, “Merlin, look out!”

Merlin looked up in time to see a massive bird diving down at him. In shape, it resembled a vulture, but Merlin had never heard of a vulture this large. Its feet bore sharp claws, aimed straight for his eyes.

The next second, Arthur barreled into him, bringing them both crashing to the ground. The bird swept over them, its wings kicking up a flurry of dust, and Arthur cried out.

“What is it?” Merlin struggled to sit up, looking around frantically for the bird.

“Its talons—got me in the back,” Arthur said, trying to rise. He bit back another cry and slumped back down in the dirt.

“Don’t try to move,” Merlin told him, getting warily to his feet. He scanned the sky, shielding his eyes against the sun.

A black blur came hurtling down at him. Gathering his breath, Merlin reached for his magic. This time, it came easily, as did the words of the spell. He shouted them, and fire streaked from his hands, engulfing the bird. With a wailing croak, it plummeted to the earth and lay still, smoke rising from its blackened feathers.

Wrinkling his nose at the smell, Merlin crouched down next to Arthur. “I think that was a Jubjub bird,” he said shakily. The back of Arthur’s jacket was in tatters, and blood was seeping through the cloth. Swallowing hard, Merlin started removing it. “Let me see how badly you’re hurt.”

“That evil wizard—” Arthur gasped as he bent his arms, letting Merlin slip of the jacket, “that evil wizard is taking a fucking lot of artistic license. Nowhere in the poem does it say a Jubjub bird has a ten-foot wingspan or inch-long talons. Nowhere!”

“Let’s just hope there’s only one of them.” Merlin laid Arthur’s jacket aside and slowly eased up his t-shirt. Four ragged gashes stretched across Arthur’s back from just above his right hip to his left shoulder. They were bleeding heavily and already looked inflamed.

“How bad is it?” Arthur asked in a low voice.

“Not bad,” Merlin replied quickly.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” Merlin said, knowing it didn’t sound at all convincing. He looked around. There was nothing except rocks and dirt. They had no medical supplies to speak of—he didn’t know much about treating injuries, but these looked like they would require stitches, not to mention some kind of antiseptic.

“Merlin?” Arthur’s voice trembled a little.

Merlin moved around until he was facing him. “I’ll tear up your shirt—make some bandages. You’ll be fine.” He managed a smile. “Really. I promise.”

Arthur held his eyes for a moment and then nodded slowly. Carefully, Merlin ripped off the tattered remains of Arthur’s t-shirt. Arthur held still while he tied the makeshift bandages around his back and chest, although Merlin could tell it hurt. He took off his own jacket and put it around Arthur’s shoulders, then helped him to his feet.

Merlin quickly realized that Arthur wasn’t going to be able to make it far—not like this. Every step caused him pain and soon the back of Merlin’s jacket was damp with blood. Arthur’s face was pale, and he staggered often, leaning heavily on Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin tried to help, fingers growing numb from the cold, but Arthur’s pace grew slower and slower. Swallowing back his fear and panic, Merlin mumbled encouragement, telling Arthur that he would be fine. That they would find someone or something that could help. But the land stretched before them, empty and barren. Finally, Arthur’s legs gave way, and he sank to the ground.

“I just have to rest. Just for a minute,” he gasped.

They were in a small hollow. A stand of tall bushes grew off to one side, and a stream wound its way through the rocks.

“We’ll stop here for the night,” Merlin said, trying to make it sound like it was due to the fading sunlight and not Arthur’s growing weakness. He half-carried Arthur off the path and under the bushes. Balling up Arthur’s ruined jacket into a pillow, he helped Arthur lie on his stomach. Arthur moaned. Sweat coated his forehead, and he was shivering. Merlin gathered wood and started a fire, then went to the stream and soaked his handkerchief in the water. He sat down next to Arthur, sponging the sweat off his forehead.

“What possessed you to leap in front of me?” he murmured. “Thank you for that, by the way.”

“Merlin,” Arthur muttered, but he didn’t open his eyes. “Hurts. Merlin, it hurts.”

“I know.” Arthur’s cheeks were flushed with fever. Merlin soaked the cloth again and laid it against Arthur’s brow.

“Have to—have to send the sword back,” Arthur gasped. “Merlin—Merlin where are you?”

“I’m here. Right here.” He found Arthur’s hand and gripped it. “And we have to find the sword, Arthur.”

“No,” Arthur moaned. “The lake—long time ago. But now—can’t let anyone else wield it. I—I won’t need it anymore.”

“We still have to find it,” Merlin repeated. “Try and get some sleep, Arthur.”

But Arthur thrashed around, his hand tightening around Merlin’s. “Needed you,” he whispered. “Mordred—I couldn’t. I couldn’t.”

Merlin shivered. Mordred. What if Arthur really _was_ the famous king? What if he was starting to remember things, just like Merlin had remembered the spells?

“It’s all so dark,” Arthur said. His eyes had snapped open, but he was staring out unseeing. Whatever he beheld, it was a place and time that had long ago passed into myth.

“You’ll be all right,” Merlin told him, blinking back the tears that had sprung into his eyes. “I’m with you this time, Arthur. You’re not going to die.” He smoothed back Arthur’s tangled hair.

“Merlin,” Arthur whispered again, and then his eyes slid shut, and his breathing slowed as he fell asleep.

Merlin drew his jacket more closely about Arthur, and then picked up the spell book, hunching over the fire. There had to be a spell in here that would save Arthur. There had to be.

**

The night dragged on. Arthur slept fitfully, now and then crying out strange names and mumbling incoherently. Merlin found spells—many spells. Spells to heal poisoning and arrow wounds and bites and sword thrusts. He tried them all—and nothing worked.

Morning found him kneeling by Arthur’s side. Arthur’s face looked grey and drawn, his breathing shallow. “You can’t die,” Merlin said, scrubbing away the tears that spilled down his face. “Arthur, please. Please don’t die.” He took Arthur’s hand in his again, threading their fingers together.

“I can help him!” a small voice said, and Merlin leaped up, startled, looking around wildly.

“Who’s there?” he demanded, his hand straying towards a piece of wood.

“Me!” the voice said unhelpfully.

“Where are you?”

“Right here!” the voice said, sounding petulant, and Merlin felt something tugging on the leg of his trousers. He looked down, and his mouth dropped open. A fairy was staring up at him.

Gulping, Merlin got back on his knees. The fairy had iridescent wings, shimmering in the growing sunlight. She wore a tattered dress of leaves sewn together, and her hair looked unkempt. She couldn’t have been more than five inches tall.

“You said you know how to help my friend?” he asked, and she nodded.

“The Jubjub bird’s claws are filled with poison,” she said in her thin little voice. “Only a certain potion can cure it.”

“And you have some?”

She nodded again.

“Please get it—or tell me where it is! He’s dying!”

She tilted her head and fluttered her wings, rising into the air until she was hovering right in front of his face. “I want one of those first!” she demanded and pointed imperiously at one of the shiny buttons on Merlin’s jacket, draped over Arthur’s back.

“All right.” He tugged one off, tucking the jacket back around Arthur when he was done. He held it out to her, but then closed his hand before she could touch it. “First get me the potion.”

She pouted. “I’m not going to cheat you,” she said in a sulky tone, but she motioned for Merlin to follow her.

With an agonized glance at Arthur, Merlin did, ducking through the bushes. They hadn’t gone far, though, before the fairy stopped at an old hollow log. She crawled in, and Merlin peered into the opening. It was filled with a strange mixture of things—some moss piled into a bed in a corner, an owl’s feather, some dried mushrooms, a glass bead, and a small bottle filled with clear liquid.

“Is that it?” Merlin demanded, and she nodded. He quickly set the button down and grabbed the bottle, dashing back towards Arthur. The fairy followed him, flying next to his ear.

Ignoring her, Merlin knelt next to Arthur and hauled him into a sitting position. Arthur’s head lolled back against his shoulder, and Merlin opened his mouth, poured the potion in, and then stroked his throat, making him swallow it.

“Is that it?” Merlin asked the fairy. “When will he get better?”

“Soon.” She landed on Arthur’s knee and peered up at him. “I can show you where some herbs grow, and you can make a poultice for his wounds.”

Merlin accepted her help gratefully. “What’s your name?” he asked.

“I’m not going to tell you my _name_!” she said, sounding shocked.

“Well, I have to call you something,” he said, smiling. “My name is Merlin. And this is Arthur.”

She hovered doubtfully in the air. Merlin held out his hand. Warily, she landed on it, crouching down, her little wings quivering. “I don’t know any human names,” she said.

“How about ‘Buttercup’? It’s a lovely yellow flower where I come from.”

“I like flowers.” She smiled. “That is a good name, Merlin!” She left his hand and fluttered onto his shoulder. “Are you magic?”

“I can do magic, yes.”

Buttercup nodded thoughtfully and pointed him in the direction of some light purple ferns that she assured him had wonderful healing properties.

Merlin followed her directions and soon had a thick paste that he applied to Arthur’s injuries. Already Arthur seemed better—the fever was gone, and he was sleeping peacefully. Buttercup disappeared for a moment, and when she reappeared, she carried a small pouch. She sprinkled the contents onto Arthur’s back. It looked like sparkling dust motes, caught in the sun, but she refused to say what it was.

“I suppose you wouldn’t know where I might be able to find something to eat?” Merlin asked, and heaved a sigh of relief when Buttercup nodded vigorously. They spent the morning seeking out berries and mushrooms. Buttercup was fascinated with Merlin’s watch and kept poking at it, asking him to explain ‘batteries.’ Merlin tried his best.

When they returned to the hollow, and Merlin checked Arthur’s wounds, he gasped. They were practically healed—four tender scars were all that was left. “You’re amazing, Buttercup!” he exclaimed, and she preened.

“Arthur. Wake up, Arthur.” Merlin shook Arthur’s shoulder, and his eyes slowly opened. Merlin held his breath—would Arthur remember any of the dreams and visions?

Arthur looked confused for a moment, but then his expression cleared, and he sat up. Immediately he reached around to touch his back, and his eyes widened. “Did you do this?” he asked Merlin.

Merlin shook his head. “No. That was Buttercup.”

“Buttercup?”

“Yes.” Merlin grinned and looked towards the stone that Buttercup had fled behind when Arthur sat up. “You can come out now,” he told her.

Slowly, Buttercup emerged.

“A fairy?” Arthur moved towards her, and Buttercup shrieked, flying up to Merlin’s shoulder and clinging to his hair.

“You frightened her,” he said to Arthur. “Buttercup, it’s all right, he won’t hurt you.”

Buttercup tightened her grip, and Merlin winced. Arthur rolled his eyes and sat back, sighing. “The last thing I remember is you dragging me here.” He stared around the hollow, rubbing his face wearily, and then plucked at the sleeve of Merlin’s jacket. “I suppose I’ll have to wear this?”

So Arthur didn’t recall any of the visions. Merlin was glad—no one should have to remember their death in some other life. Although the way Arthur had said his name…it had sounded as though he had, well, _loved_ Merlin’s other self. Clearing his throat, Merlin pushed those thoughts away. “It’s the jacket or going without,” he confirmed.

Arthur grimaced and did up the buttons. The jacket was too small for him and pulled tight against his shoulders. Merlin handed him some of the berries and mushrooms he had gathered, and Arthur ate them hungrily. Catching himself staring at the way Arthur’s tongue licked out to clean his fingers, Merlin turned his attention to Buttercup.

“Do you know anything about a vorpal sword?” he asked, gently tugging his hair away from her grasp.

Buttercup gasped and flitted about excitedly. “Are you going to kill the Jabberwock, Merlin?”

“Maybe,” Merlin hedged, seeing Arthur tense out of the corner of his eye.

“It murdered my family,” Buttercup whispered, and two tiny tears slid down her cheeks. “I used to live in a lovely city on a hilltop. And one day—one day the Jabberwock came. I was the only one who escaped,” she finished sadly, her wings crumpling around her shoulders. “I’ve been wandering in the wilderness ever since.”

Merlin tried to think of words that would comfort her, but it was Arthur who spoke. “ _I’m_ going to kill the Jabberwock,” he said firmly.

“Really?” Buttercup brightened, and her wings shimmered again.

“Really.” Arthur raised his chin, a determined light in his eyes.

Merlin fumbled with his watch. “I want you to have this, Buttercup. As a thank you for all your help.”

Buttercup stared at the watch and then looked at Merlin, her eyes wide. “I want to come with you!”

“It will be dangerous,” Merlin began, but Buttercup’s eyes filled with tears. “All right,” he said hastily. “All right.”

Buttercup clapped her hands and flew around his head. Arthur gave him a look.

“She was _crying_ ,” Merlin protested, and Arthur sighed.

“You’re a pushover, Merlin,” he said, but there was a certain fondness in his voice, and when Merlin gave him a tentative smile, he smiled back.

**

Merlin quickly discovered that Buttercup was incapable of staying still for any length of time. She flitted ahead of them or darted off to investigate shiny things that caught her eye, occasionally coming back to rest on Merlin’s shoulder. She was still skittish of getting close to Arthur, who seemed a little offended.

“I don’t usually have such a problem with girls,” he told her, holding out his hand. Buttercup flew back to Merlin. “Not that it does them any good,” Arthur added, letting his hand drop.

“Why not?” Buttercup asked, peeking over the top of Merlin’s head.

“I’m attracted to men, not women,” Arthur explained, flushing a little and avoiding looking at Merlin.

Merlin cleared his throat. “I’m afraid you won’t get a kiss from either of us,” he said, and Arthur quickly glanced at him. Merlin’s face felt hot, but he determinedly kept his eyes on Arthur’s—until he stumbled over a rock.

“Watch where you’re going, _Mer_ lin,” Arthur said, smirking. Merlin righted himself and gave Arthur a glare.

“Ouch!” Arthur exclaimed a second later, putting a hand to his head. Buttercup had flown up behind Arthur and pulled out a few strands of his hair. She darted back to the safety of Merlin’s shoulder. “What was that for?” Arthur demanded.

Merlin shrugged. “She likes shiny things,” he said with a grin.

Arthur rubbed his scalp. “I won’t hurt you,” he said to Buttercup in a coaxing tone. “It can’t be comfortable perched on Merlin’s bony shoulder.”

“Hey!” Merlin protested.

“I’ll sing you a song,” Arthur told her. “It’s all about a girl named Buttercup.”

“Really?” Buttercup flitted closer to him. “Is she as lovely as I am?”

Arthur pretended to consider this. “No, definitely not,” he said at last, shaking his head.

Buttercup smiled and fluffed her hair before alighting on Arthur’s hand. “Sing me the song!” she demanded.

“Why do you build me up, build me up, Buttercup, baby, just to let me down,” Arthur began, and Merlin laughed. “What?” Arthur asked, stopping.

“You have a horrible voice,” Merlin replied.

“I never said I could sing _well_ ,” Arthur pointed out.

“Keep singing!” Buttercup told him. “I want to hear my song!”

So Arthur sang all the verses, while Merlin pretended to stop up his ears.

**

In the late afternoon they came to a country of rolling meadows. Once they must have been green and filled with flowers, but now all the grasses were brown and dead and a chill wind blew. Buttercup crawled into the pocket of Merlin’s old jacket, which Arthur now wore, and curled up, shivering.

“That looks like a house up ahead,” Arthur said as they crested a small rise.

Merlin peered through the deepening gloom and saw a small log cabin perched on the edge of the path. “It reminds me of the witch’s house,” he said.

Arthur stopped. “Maybe we should find another way.”

But Buttercup peered out of his pocket and said, “A witch doesn’t live there. That’s the Smith’s house.” She flew out and tugged at Arthur’s arm. “He’s friendly and kind.”

“I don’t know,” Arthur said, still hesitating.

“It’s _important_ that you go there,” Buttercup insisted, wings fluttering madly.

“It would be nice to spend the night somewhere warm,” Merlin said.

“You’re right,” Arthur agreed, and they hurried forward, eager at the prospect of getting out of the wind for at least a little while.

When they knocked on the door, it opened immediately, firelight spilling over the doorstep. A man stood there, tall and broad, dressed in rough clothes and a leather apron. “Ah, Merlin and Arthur, I have been expecting you,” he said and bowed to Arthur.

Arthur looked nervously at Merlin, and Merlin took his hand. “Would you be willing to give us shelter for the night?” he asked.

The Smith smiled and opened the door. “Gladly.”

They stepped inside. Buttercup flew over to the fire, bouncing on her feet and holding her hands close to the flames. The Smith laughed. “I see you have found a friend.” He turned to a small cupboard and opened it, taking out a bowl and a jar. The jar proved to hold honey, and the Smith put a dollop in the bowl before setting it on the table. “Here you go, little one. Have something to eat.” Buttercup fluttered over eagerly and began dipping her fingers in, licking them daintily.

“We’re a bit hungry, too,” Arthur mentioned plaintively.

A pot of stew was bubbling over the fire, and the Smith ladled out two large bowls. They ate ravenously, not turning away a second or even a third helping.

“Thank you,” Merlin said, finally sitting back in his chair. “There’s not much to eat around here.”

The Smith shook his head sadly. “It was not always that way. But with our queen’s magic cut off from the land, all things are dying.”

“Arthur is going to kill the Jabberwock, and Merlin is going to free Queen Cliodhna!” Buttercup announced, smiling proudly.

Arthur flushed. “That’s the general idea, yes,” he mumbled.

The Smith nodded. “I have something for you. I have kept it long, in anticipation of this day.”

Arthur and Merlin exchanged puzzled glances. The Smith went to a large chest against the wall. Opening it, he took out a chainmail hauberk, some sort of padded garment to be worn under it, and more pieces of armor that seemed shaped for the arms and chest, all with delicate engravings etched onto the surface. “These are yours, Arthur,” the Smith said.

Slowly, Arthur trailed his fingers across the armor, fingering the links of chainmail. “But you don’t have the sword,” he observed.

“No, that remains to be found.” The Smith laid his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “But I have no doubt that you shall succeed.” He looked at Merlin. “Together,” he added quietly.

Merlin met Arthur’s eyes, and his magic surged within him, growing, filling him with a burning warmth.

“Merlin,” it was Buttercup, hovering by his ear, “Merlin, I’m tired.”

“I’m sure you’re all tired,” the Smith said, and Merlin’s magic calmed, subsiding once again.

The Smith laid out blankets for them in front of the fire, and Merlin put his hat on the table, arranging a soft cloth inside. Buttercup snuggled into it, closing her eyes. The Smith retired to his own room, bidding them good night.

Merlin toed off his shoes and then stood there awkwardly, blushing. Arthur cleared his throat and turned away, taking off Merlin’s jacket and then unbuttoning his pants. Blushing harder, Merlin started undoing his own buttons. Stripping down to his boxers, he quickly crawled under the blanket. Arthur followed a second later.

At first, they lay stiffly, but then Merlin felt Arthur turn towards him. He twisted his head to find Arthur looking at him. “What?” he asked.

“This floor is _really_ hard,” Arthur said, and Merlin stifled a laugh.

“Not even a pillow,” Arthur continued, “but if you want…” He moved slightly closer and slipped his hand around the back of Merlin’s neck, fingers warm against Merlin’s skin. “You could lay your head here,” he finished in a whisper and drew Merlin’s head onto his shoulder.

Merlin could hear Arthur’s heart, beating rapidly. He put his hand on Arthur’s chest and shifted, his legs tangling with Arthur’s.

“Before you get too comfortable,” Arthur said, rubbing a hand across Merlin’s back, “there’s something you need to do.”

“Oh, and what is that?” Merlin asked, his smile curving against Arthur’s skin.

“My memories of our first kiss are fuzzy, given that I was enchanted at the time. I think you should give me another one.” Arthur’s tone was light, but Merlin caught the hint of uncertainty.

“Are you always this demanding?” Merlin asked, and Arthur tensed, but Merlin already was lifting his head and bringing his lips to Arthur’s. Arthur relaxed under him, his mouth opening. “Wanted to do this the second I met you,” he confessed, pulling back slightly and pressing little kisses against Arthur’s lips. “Then I found out how annoying you are.”

“Less talking,” Arthur admonished and claimed Merlin’s mouth in a harder kiss. Merlin rolled on top of him, straddling his hips, and their erections brushed together. Arthur sucked in a sharp breath. “Have you ever…?” he asked.

“Once, with a guy at school. But we just jerked each other off—it was really awkward, actually.” Merlin took a steadying breath and trailed his fingers down Arthur’s chest to his stomach. “You?”

Arthur shook his head. “No one really knows I’m gay,” he admitted. His fingers tangled with Merlin’s. “Haven’t told my dad.”

Another kiss, and Merlin brushed his fingers through Arthur’s hair. “But this is all right?” he asked softly.

Arthur nodded, so Merlin licked at his lips again, gently asking for more. Their tongues slipped together, breathing quickening, and Merlin couldn’t help moaning and rutting his hips against Arthur’s.

“Have to keep quiet,” Arthur murmured, pushing back, so Merlin pressed his face into Arthur’s neck, burying the needy sounds that slipped from him.

He found himself coming in an embarrassingly short amount of time and wriggled his fingers between them, wanting to feel Arthur, who groaned and thrust into his hand, his orgasm tilting his head back. Merlin nuzzled at his throat. “You need to shave,” he murmured.

Arthur chuckled, still breathing hard. “You, too. I wouldn’t say no to a shower, either. Or coffee.”

They shifted about until they were both on their sides, facing each other. Merlin kept an arm around Arthur. “Maybe this hasn’t been all bad, though,” he murmured.

“No, not all bad,” Arthur agreed, pillowing his head on his arm, smiling a little as he fell asleep. Merlin stayed awake, watching him, until the firelight died away.

**

The Smith was not to be seen the next morning, although there was fresh bread and cheese on the table and a bowl of honey for Buttercup. At first Buttercup was missing, too, but then she reappeared, flying in through the window, chattering about the complexion refining qualities of dew-drops.

“I don’t know how I’ll get into that without the Smith’s help,” Arthur said around a mouthful of cheese, waving a hand at the pile of armor.

“Start with this, I suppose,” Merlin said, picking up the padded shirt. He helped Arthur into it, doing up the ties. “Then the chainmail.”

The armor felt familiar under his fingers, which seemed to move almost of their own accord, picking up pieces, strapping them on, adjusting them to fit Arthur’s arms. As though he had done this many, many times. Merlin shivered. Perhaps he had.

“Pretty!” Buttercup exclaimed, peering at herself in the shiny metal.

“Not quite the word I would have chosen,” Arthur said ruefully, looking down at himself.

“You look—right,” Merlin said. And Arthur did—despite the jeans and muddy trainers on his feet. The armor looked as though it belonged on him.

Arthur ran his fingers over the arm guards. “I feel—” He stopped and shook his head. “Let’s go find that sword,” he said instead.

It was mid-morning when they came to a wide river. A stone bridge crossed over it, and leaning against one of the pillars was a man. He wore a ragged black coat patched with flashes of red silk and a tall stovepipe hat. His eyes were dark, almost black, set deep in a pale face. A sword stood point first in the ground before him.

He offered a flourishing bow as they approached and smiled, exposing a mouth of shiny, pointed teeth. Not a man, then. Some sort of creature. Buttercup clung so tightly to Merlin’s hair that it brought tears to his eyes.

“Who are you?” Arthur demanded. He gestured at the sword. “Is that the vorpal sword?”

“It is indeed,” the thing said. Its eyes traveled over Arthur’s armor. “I see you have been finding yourself again, your majesty.”

“My name is Arthur.”

“Oh, I know your name. And yours, too, Merlin,” it added, glancing Merlin’s way. “As for myself, I am known as the frumious Bandersnatch.”

“Wonderful,” Arthur muttered. He took a step forward. “I have need of that sword.”

“Yes, you do, don’t you?” The Bandersnatch grinned in an unpleasant manner. “Unfortunately for you, I found it first.”

“What do you want, then?” Arthur asked angrily.

“I already have everything I want from _you_ ,” the Bandersnatch replied. It opened its coat, and Merlin caught a glimpse of many strange medallions and charms hanging from delicate chains. The Bandersnatch selected a silver locket and twirled it between its fingers.

“What is—” Arthur began, but the Bandersnatch said “Silence,” and Arthur stopped speaking.

“Come here, Arthur,” the Bandersnatch purred, and to Merlin’s horror, Arthur stepped forward. His movements were jerky and stiff, as though he wanted to stop but couldn’t. He grabbed Arthur’s arm, but Arthur ripped it away with unexpected force.

“He is compelled to do as I wish,” the Bandersnatch said, “thanks to the strand of his hair that I have placed in this locket and a few enchantments.”

“A strand of…” Merlin whirled around, searching for Buttercup. “Buttercup, what did you do?”

“I’m sorry, Merlin! I’m sorry!” she sobbed, and he looked down to see her crouched on the ground, hunched into a ball. “I couldn’t help it. He has my name. My name!”

“She played her part quite cleverly, did she not?” The Bandersnatch uttered a few strange syllables, and Buttercup cried out, but slowly crept forward. “I gave her the potion to heal the Jubjub bird’s poison, and it proved ridiculously easy to gain your trust.” He smirked at Merlin. “Of course, from what I’ve heard, you always bestowed your trust too freely.” The Bandersnatch said the strange word again, sharper this time, and Buttercup shrieked in pain, writhing on the ground.

“Stop it!” Merlin said. “Stop hurting her!”

The Bandersnatch gave him a slow smile. “I could do the same thing to your king.” He stroked his fingers down Arthur’s cheek in a sick parody of a caress.

“I’ll kill you if you hurt him.” Merlin’s voice was low, certain.

“Do you think you could?” The Bandersnatch sounded truly curious. “I have heard that you are not as powerful, that time has dulled your abilities. Besides,” he snapped his fingers, and the vorpal sword disappeared, “if you kill me, you shall never find what you seek.”

“What do you want, then?” Merlin asked. He reached for Arthur’s hand, but the Bandersnatch yanked him closer. Arthur’s face was blank, his limbs lax and unresisting.

“I want to challenge you,” the Bandersnatch said.

“To what? A fight?”

“Nonsense,” it scoffed, doffing its hat and twirling it in its hands. “Neither of us are skilled with a sword, and even in your current state, your magic is more than a match for mine. No, I think a game of wits will be most entertaining. What say you to a game of riddles?”

“Riddles? I don’t know any riddles.” Merlin edged closer, and the Bandersnatch tightened its fist around the locket. Arthur whimpered in pain, and Merlin stopped.

“How unfortunate for you.” It slipped its arm through Arthur’s. “In that case, I shall take my leave of you. Arthur and I must get better acquainted.”

“No!” Merlin thought desperately, trying to remember a spell that would kill the Bandersnatch—never mind the sword—but it was right, he didn’t know one. If he had once been a powerful sorcerer, the Merlin of legend, he wasn’t anymore. “I’ll play your game.”

“Good, good,” it murmured, letting go of Arthur. “But we must decide on a wager first.”

“If I win, you will release Arthur and give us the vorpal sword.” Merlin glanced down at Buttercup, now clinging to Arthur’s shoe. “And you will release her as well.”

“You ask much. But I agree. I swear that I will give you these things if you should win.” The Bandersnatch smiled. “And what if I win? It seems as though I already have everything I could want.”

Merlin took a deep breath. “You can have me, too. You can have a piece of my hair or—or whatever.”

“Aaah,” it sighed, looking at him with lust-filled eyes. “I should like the pair of you. Yes, I should like that _very_ much. I accept the bargain. Shall I begin?” Before Merlin could say yes or no, it recited:

“This thing, all things devours:  
Birds, beasts, trees, flowers;  
Gnaws iron, bites steel;  
Grinds hard stones to meal;  
Slays king, ruins town,  
And beats high mountain down.”

Thankfully, Merlin had enjoyed reading as a child. It only took him a moment to remember the answer: “Time.”

The Bandersnatch merely raised an eyebrow and gestured for him to take a turn.

Merlin had been afraid that he wouldn’t be able to think of any riddles. But one rose unbidden in his mind, even though he would swear that he had never heard it before.

“There is one that has a head without an eye,  
And there’s one that has an eye without a head.  
You may find the answer if you try;  
And when all is said,  
Half the answer hangs upon a thread.”

The Bandersnatch titled its head and closed its eyes. Merlin was just beginning to hope, when it snapped them open again and said, “a pin and needle.” Merlin nodded grudgingly.

Grinning, the Bandersnatch recited:

“Poke your fingers in my eyes, and I will open wide my jaws. Linen cloth, quills, or paper, my greedy lust devours them all.”

Merlin had to ask it to say the riddle again, which the Bandersnatch did, smirking. Palms sweaty, Merlin thought and thought. But all he could think about was what would happen if he failed. He couldn’t—he had promised Arthur that they would get home. And then, just as the Bandersnatch was licking its lips and leaning forward, he felt a vague memory stir within him, the light tone of a woman’s voice and the sound of a lute, and with it the answer.

“Scissors!” he exclaimed, and the Bandersnatch sat back, scowling.

Again, another riddle rose unbidden in his mind, along with the faint memory of the bitter taste of ale and laughter.

“My sides are firmly lac’d about,  
Yet nothing is within;  
You’ll think my head is strange indeed,  
Being nothing else but skin.”

Unfortunately, the Bandersnatch hardly had to consider before it arrived at the answer. “A drum,” it said and immediately gave Merlin another riddle.

“What goes on four legs in the morning, two legs at noon, and three legs in the evening?”

The minutes ticked by, and the Bandersnatch’s grin grew wider and wider. Merlin clutched the spell book to his chest, willing his mind to remember the answer or to be astoundingly clever and think of it on his own. And then—so clearly that he almost gasped out loud, he remembered hot sand, the sun beating down, and a strange creature speaking to him, telling him—

“Man,” he said. “The answer is man.”

The Bandersnatch narrowed its eyes. “I should have guessed that she would have spoken with you at _some_ point. Although I would have thought the Sphinx of all creatures could have kept her mouth shut.”

Merlin ignored him, racking his brains for a riddle. He needed to end this. So far he had gotten through on pure luck, and it couldn’t continue. Then he had a thought—and from one of his own memories this time, too. His mother, sitting next to him in bed when he was sick and reading _Alice in Wonderland_. And he had wanted to know the answer, and she had said—

“All right, try this,” Merlin told the Bandersnatch. “Why is a raven like a writing desk?”

The Bandersnatch thought and considered, narrowing its eyes and running a tongue over its sharp teeth. The minutes dragged on, and still it didn’t speak. Finally, it began to hiss and splutter, shooting furious looks at Merlin.

Merlin had a nasty moment when he remembered that the Bandersnatch came from a poem written by the very same author, but apparently it did not share the literary tastes of Anfauglir the Black, for it remained silent. Finally, Merlin said, “Do you give up? I’m not going to wait about all day.”

The Bandersnatch ground its teeth, but finally snarled, “Yes, I give up!” It hurled the locket down on the ground, and Merlin grabbed it.

“And the sword?”

The Bandersnatch hissed and snapped its fingers. The vorpal sword appeared, and Merlin clasped the hilt. “And the fairy—you swore you would release her.”

“Very _well_ ,” it spat and made some gesture with its fingers. Buttercup immediately flew up to Merlin’s shoulder and buried her face in his neck. Merlin took Arthur by the arm, pulling him away from the Bandersnatch. Arthur was frowning in confusion and rubbing his face.

The Bandersnatch crossed its arms over its chest, looking extremely grumpy. “At least satisfy my curiosity and tell me the answer,” it said.

“There was no answer,” Merlin told it.

“You cheat!” the Bandersnatch exclaimed, bristling with indignation.

“You never said that the riddles had to have an answer,” Merlin pointed out.

“You—you—” The Bandersnatch fell silent, glaring. “You may have won this round, warlock,” it said at last. “But the Jabberwock still awaits you. And even greater dangers beyond that. Misery and loss—that will be your reward if you are not careful.” And after a final, sharp-toothed sneer, it disappeared in a cloud of red smoke.

Merlin dropped the sword to the ground, turning to Arthur and cupping his head in his palms. “Arthur? Are you all right?”

Arthur’s hands covered his, and Merlin could feel them trembling. “I could feel that thing in my head,” he whispered. “I couldn’t resist—couldn’t do anything.”

“But you’re fine now.” Merlin kissed him, wrapping his arms around Arthur’s shoulders.

Arthur nodded, still shaking a little.

“I’m sorry,” Buttercup said in a small voice. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to.” She was crying again.

Arthur sniffed and pulled away. “I know.” He held out his hands and Buttercup flew over, perching on his fingers. “I don’t blame you.” She hugged his thumb, and Arthur kissed the tip of his finger and then patted her on the head with it. Buttercup beamed.

Merlin opened the locket and released the strand of Arthur’s hair, then tossed the necklace into the river. When he looked back, Arthur had picked up the sword. He held it for a moment, and then practiced a few swings. His movements were fluid, easy.

“Are you sure you’ve never done this before?” Merlin asked.

“I’ve never held a sword in my life.” Arthur whirled, the sword whipping through the air. “It just—happens,” he finished, shrugging.

“Well, it’s a good thing it does, is all I can say.” Merlin stared at Arthur, still parrying invisible opponents. “Armor is a good look for you,” he finally said, clearing his throat.

“Yeah?” Arthur grinned and slung an arm around Merlin’s shoulders, kissing the side of his head. “We’ll have to find you some robes and a pointy hat.”

“I am _not_ wearing any such thing,” Merlin said firmly, and Arthur laughed.

**

They didn’t have far to go before the towers of a castle appeared over the treetops. A long, open meadow stretched before them. The blades of grass were tipped with frost, and their breath clouded in the cold air. They would have to cross the meadow to get to the castle, but scarcely had they started across then a howl vibrated through the air, and the ground began to shake. With a shriek of fear, Buttercup shot away, disappearing into a hollow log.

Arthur paled, gripping the handle of the sword. “The Jabberwock. Merlin—Merlin I don’t think I can do this.”

“Yes, you can.” Merlin put his hand on Arthur’s arm. “I know a lot of strange things have happened in the last few days—to put it mildly.”

“Fucking _insane_ might be a better term,” Arthur said, his voice tight as he stared at the surrounding trees. Another howl shivered through the air.

“Yes, but—” Merlin moved around so that he was facing Arthur, and Arthur finally looked at him. “I don’t understand everything that’s happened,” Merlin said, holding Arthur’s eyes with his own. “But I do know that you _will_ defeat the Jabberwock. I know it,” he repeated quietly. “Just trust in yourself.”

Arthur nodded slowly. “Who’d have thought a chauffeur would be so wise?” he murmured, reaching out to brush his fingers across Merlin’s cheek.

Merlin caught them in his own. “Chauffeur _and_ powerful sorcerer,” he said.

“Speaking of which, feel free to toss around any fireballs, lightning bolts, or any other handy spell you’ve come across.” Arthur paused. “At the Jabberwock. Not me.”

“I happen to have very good aim, thank you very much. But the dragon said my magic couldn’t harm it.”

“On the off chance that it was wrong…”

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” Merlin promised quietly, and Arthur smiled, giving his hand a brief squeeze.

“Right.” Taking a deep breath, Arthur lifted the sword. “I’ll just pretend the Jabberwock is a particularly vicious midfielder blocking my way to the goal.”

Merlin watched as Arthur walked out into the meadow. For a moment, Merlin’s vision wavered, and he felt a surge of magic, uncontrollable, flooding through him. He blinked, staggering, and it faded. Arthur was standing alone, the sword steady in his hands.

With a shriek, the Jabberwock charged out of the trees. Arthur crouched, raised the sword, and swung at the clawed hand coming towards him. The sword bit deeply, and the Jabberwock hissed, recoiling and circling Arthur warily.

Merlin wasn’t about to just stand by, and he readied a spell, but before he could speak the words, he felt the surge of magic again, like white-hot pleasure on the border of pain. He cried out and fell to his knees, panting for breath. Forcing himself to his feet, he started running towards Arthur. Arthur had moved in closer to the Jabberwock, aiming to pierce its scaly hide. The Jabberwock’s head snaked down, its jaws opening wide.

“Arthur! Watch out!” Merlin shouted. Tentatively, he gathered his magic—he could feel the wild strength of it, singing him a siren’s song, but for the moment it stayed under control—and sent a fireball hurtling towards the Jabberwock. The magic fizzled out before it reached the monster—the dragon had been right, whatever spells created the Jabberwock were too powerful for Merlin’s magic—but it distracted the beast long enough so that Arthur could retreat.

Again, the Jabberwock reached out a paw, claws extended, and Arthur slashed it with his sword. But the Jabberwock swung its tail, too, and before Arthur was aware, it had smashed into him, flinging him to the ground. Another surge of magic, and Merlin found himself next to Arthur, dragging him backwards, away from the Jabberwock’s snapping teeth. The force of the magic made his limbs shake, and he tripped over his own feet, sprawling into the grass of the meadow, his vision blurred with gold.

Arthur struggled up, facing the Jabberwock again. It rose onto its hind legs, ready to come crashing down upon them. Merlin tried to speak, to move, but his magic kept surging, the world flickering in and out.

The Jabberwock pounced, but Arthur darted aside, lifted the vorpal sword, and with a yell brought it down on the Jabberwock’s sinuous neck. Once, twice he hewed at the beast. And the Jabberwock collapsed, its severed head rolling to a stop in front of Merlin.

Arthur stared at it for a moment, and then laughed, a disbelieving smile crossing his face. Buttercup appeared, flying around Arthur in dizzying circles. “You did it, Arthur! You killed the Jabberwock! O frabjous day!”

Arthur laughed again and raised the sword into the air, and then tossed it aside. He hauled Merlin to his feet and gave him an exuberant kiss.

“Knew you could do it,” Merlin told him, brushing back Arthur’s sweaty hair. He kissed him again, just before another wave of magic tore through him.

“Your eyes!” Arthur gasped. “They looked golden.”

“It’s my magic,” Merlin said, clutching Arthur’s shoulders as his legs threatened to collapse again. “I think it’s all returning to me, and I can’t control it.” He shuddered. “It feels so _good_ , but it’s almost too much.”

Arthur slipped a steadying arm across his back. “Come on—we’re almost there. Just a bit farther. We’ll get to the castle and free the queen.”

Merlin nodded, feeling his eyes turn gold again, and pretended not to hear the worry in Arthur’s voice.

As they approached the castle, the frost thickened, now coating the limbs of the barren trees and riming the stones of the path. Despite the cold, Merlin felt hot, his magic burning as it grew inside him. Arthur kept his arm around Merlin’s shoulders, supporting him when he stumbled. The gates of the castle stood open, but all was silent, jagged shards of frost glinting in the weak sunlight. Together, they walked through the doors and found themselves in a long, empty hall. At the far end stood a dais with a throne upon it, all encased in ice. When they drew near, they saw that a woman sat upon the throne, frozen, her skin deathly pale.

“She still lives,” Buttercup whispered, putting a hand against the ice. “You must free her, Merlin.”

Merlin knelt down in front of the throne and put his own hands against the ice. Dimly, he heard Arthur asking him something, but it was overwhelmed in the waves of magic coursing through him, pounding through his blood. For a wild, panicked moment he thought they would drag him under, but then words came to him—the words of a spell he had read while frantically looking through the book after Arthur had been injured. The sounds channeled and guided the magic. He could feel the ice melting, water pouring over his hands. And he could sense other things, too—an entire universe, golden-tinged and unfathomable waiting for him to explore.

Arthur’s hand on his shoulder brought him back. Drawing in a deep breath, he raised his head. Queen Cliodhna stood before him, impossibly beautiful, a smile on her face. “Welcome, Emrys,” she said.

 _Emrys_. He felt all the pieces of his soul falling into place at the sound of that name— _his_ name. The magic swirled within him, filling all the empty spaces inside him, settling deep into his bones.

“Merlin?” Arthur said behind him, and he turned to find Arthur staring at him, looking awed and frightened. “You were sort of glowing,” Arthur continued nervously.

“The magic—I feel so _alive_ ,” Merlin said, trying to explain. Arthur hesitantly took his hand, and Merlin clasped it, but his attention was on the golden power welling within him. It wasn’t strange or frightening now, but warm and familiar, like an old friend.

The queen spoke, her voice soft and mellifluous. “I see that your full powers have returned, Emrys. I am indebted to you. And to you, Arthur.”

“You can send us home, right?” Arthur said. “Now that you’re free.”

Cliodhna smiled. “First, you must let us honor you and celebrate this victory. Refresh yourselves and then join us at a feast.”

Merlin became aware that all the frost had melted, that the air was as warm as a spring day, and that the sun shone brightly. The hall was no longer empty. Fairies, elves, sprites, and all manner of creatures were coming in, laughing and talking.

“A bath and some clean clothes would be nice, I suppose” Arthur said, although he sounded a little reluctant and didn’t let go of Merlin’s hand.

“Come on,” Merlin told him, smiling. “You’re a champion now. Besides, you’ve been complaining about being hungry for days.” He couldn’t resist casting a spell, making a vision of a banquet appear in the air before them.

“All right,” Arthur said, and he smiled back at Merlin, although it looked a little sad. Before Merlin could ask what was wrong, several gnomes appeared, bowing low and then leading them to fair chambers. They washed, and their filthy, torn clothes were replaced with soft tunics. When they returned to the hall, they found a long table, laden with food. The assembled fairies bowed to them, and they were led to seats of honor, next to the queen.

“This won’t put me to sleep, will it?” Arthur asked, picking up an apple and peering at it suspiciously.

“I know how to break the enchantment if it does,” Merlin told him and gave him a kiss—as practice, just in case.

Buttercup sat by Arthur, sipping from his wine goblet and sampling various dainties off his plate. When she started yawning, she curled up in the crook of Arthur’s elbow where it rested against the table, and Arthur had to eat everything one-handed to keep from disturbing her. Merlin’s magic kept bubbling up, and he couldn’t resist trying it out—creating sparkling butterflies, conjuring a green dragon made of smoke, making flowers rain from the ceiling. He could feel Arthur staring at him when he did, and Merlin knew he was watching the golden magic swirling in his eyes.

At last, Cliodhna turned to them. “You have my eternal gratitude,” she said, “and now you must allow me to give you something in return. Arthur, you already have expressed a wish to return to your own world. Indeed, you must return, for mortals cannot survive here long. But you, Merlin,” the queen continued, “if you desire, you may remain. Your magic will sustain you—indeed, it will lead you to wonders you cannot begin to imagine.”

Merlin could feel the magic tugging and pulling at him, and the thought was tempting, but he shook his head. “Thank you, but I want to return as well.” He reached for Arthur’s hand. “I’ll keep my magic a secret, of course, but I’m sure I’ll learn to use it, with time.”

Cliodhna sighed. “I’m afraid, Merlin, that if you return, your magic will fade, reverting to how it was before you came here—a dim spark that only occasionally flares to life.”

“But—but I _can’t_ lose it!” Merlin protested, feeling panic squeeze his chest at the thought. He couldn’t go back to how he had been—only half-alive, missing such a vital part of himself—not now, not when he knew what that golden power felt like, filling him, making him whole.

“Then stay,” the queen said, and she held out her hand.

Merlin stared at it for a second, and then twisted around in his chair and met Arthur’s eyes.

Arthur looked down at their hands, still clasped, and slowly untangled his fingers from Merlin’s. “You should stay,” he said quietly.

“No, I—” Merlin began, but Arthur stopped him.

“I’ve seen the look on your face when you’re using your magic,” Arthur said. “It makes you happy. And I want you to be happy.”

Merlin looked between Arthur and Cliodhna. “I could go back and forth, couldn’t I? Between this world and ours?”

“An occasional visit would be permitted.” She gestured, and a gnome hurried over, carrying a thick book. He stood by the queen, the book propped on his head, and she flipped through the pages. “Ah, yes—you may return to your old world once every twenty years, according to the statutes.”

“Twenty years?” Merlin swallowed down the tears that threatened to fall and turned back to Arthur.

“Stay,” Arthur said again.

“But what about us?”

Arthur shrugged, giving him a half-hearted smile. “We probably wouldn’t last a week. I’d get on your nerves, you’d call me a spoiled jerk, and I’d storm out in a huff.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I can’t ask you to give up your magic, Merlin,” Arthur told him. “Could you really live without it?”

For a long moment, Merlin remained silent, staring at the floor. “I’ll stay,” he finally told Cliodhna in a choked voice.

“You will be one of us, part of this land, Emrys,” she said. “Arthur, I will send you home in the morning.”

Arthur picked up Merlin’s hand again and squeezed it. “Spend the night with me, yeah?” he asked quietly, and Merlin nodded, standing and pulling Arthur up into his arms.

**

Moonlight covered the walls of their chamber, coloring everything with a pale, white glow. Merlin lit the candle with a wave of his hand, and then gathered Arthur close again, running his hands up his back, finding Arthur’s mouth with his own. Arthur made a soft noise, and Merlin slid his hands higher, into Arthur’s hair. Arthur pushed up Merlin’s tunic, fingers brushing over heated skin.

He pulled back slightly, ignoring Arthur’s wordless protest, and undid the ties of his tunic, pushing back the fabric. Bending, he pressed his mouth to Arthur’s chest, kissing, moving higher to suck lightly on Arthur’s neck. Arthur shuddered and stripped off the tunic, tossing it away. Merlin ran his hands down the revealed skin, sinking to his knees, and Arthur buried his fingers in Merlin’s hair. Merlin looked up. Arthur’s eyes were wide, fine tremors running through his body.

An encouraging nudge and Arthur stumbled back, collapsing onto the bed. Merlin moved forward immediately, drawing off Arthur’s boots. He nuzzled his cheek against Arthur’s thigh. “Arthur,” he began, but Arthur stopped him, putting his fingers against Merlin’s mouth.

“Not now,” he whispered, and Merlin nodded, kissing the tips of Arthur’s fingers instead.

He stood up and removed his own clothes while Arthur stripped off his pants and then lay back against the pillows. Merlin just stared at him for a long moment, memorizing the soft flush of Arthur’s skin in the candlelight. Arthur started to fidget, looking embarrassed, but Merlin quickly crawled onto the bed, kissing him, his fingers trailing down Arthur’s stomach to grasp his hard length. Arthur moaned into his mouth, pulling Merlin closer. Their cocks brushed together, and Merlin’s hips jerked.

“Want you to fuck me,” Arthur whispered, hooking a leg over Merlin’s, trapping him flush against Arthur’s body.

“I—I’ve never,” Merlin stammered, arousal burning through him with as much force as his magic. He couldn’t help rutting up against Arthur again, his prick sliding against Arthur’s stomach.

“Me, either. But I want you,” Arthur said, stilling him, rubbing his hands up Merlin’s back.

“We need lube,” Merlin began, and Arthur reached over to the side of the bed, grabbing a jar.

“I, um, saved this from when we were taking baths,” Arthur said, flushing. “That scented oil they insisted on pouring in the water. It’s a bit girly, but it’ll work.”

Merlin took the jar, his fingers shaking, and Arthur turned onto his stomach, wrapping his arms around the pillow.

Slowly, Merlin ran his hands down Arthur’s back until he reached the swell of his arse. Arthur sucked in a breath and spread his legs, and Merlin couldn’t help it—keeping Arthur open with his hands, he bent down and flicked his tongue over Arthur’s hole.

“Oh, fuck,” Arthur gasped, gripping the sheets. Merlin’s face was burning with embarrassment, but Arthur seemed to like it, so he licked again, lightly, teasing, and Arthur whimpered.

He pressed his hot face against Arthur’s back for a second, getting control of himself so he didn’t come right then. Fumbling with the jar, he slicked his fingers and reached down, tentatively pressing one into Arthur. Arthur’s arms tightened around the pillow, but he nodded, so Merlin slid his finger deeper, and then worked in a second one. More oil and he managed to work in a third, moving them back and forth. He must have hit Arthur’s prostate because Arthur jerked and pushed back. “More,” Arthur said, his voice hoarse. “I’m ready. So ready.”

Merlin poured more oil over himself—it did have a flowery scent to it, but he was past caring about such things, all he wanted was to feel Arthur clenched around him. He rested his cock against Arthur’s hole, held Arthur’s hips, and pushed forward. Arthur tensed, and Merlin waited until he had relaxed before moving again. “Fuck, you’re so tight. Feels brilliant,” he choked out. He pulled back and thrust again.

“Go on,” Arthur urged, grunting as Merlin’s thrusts shoved him forward. Merlin managed a few more, but it was too much, he could feel his balls tightening, and then he was coming, thrusting almost desperately against Arthur, squeezing his eyes shut.

He was panting like he had run a mile, his sweaty chest pressed against Arthur’s back. Kissing the bumps in Arthur’s spine, he slid his hand down to Arthur’s cock, pumping him until Arthur came with a cry. Merlin’s own prick was softening, but he stayed buried in Arthur, kept kissing his back and shoulders, rubbed his fingers over one of Arthur’s nipples. “I’ll come back with you,” he said and kept repeating it, “I’ll come back; I’ll come back.”

He felt Arthur sigh. “Merlin,” he said quietly. “Merlin, stop. Come here.” He wriggled around, and Merlin reluctantly slid out, letting Arthur turn over. Arthur pulled Merlin back down, putting his arms around him and tucking Merlin’s head under his chin. “When I first met you, I thought you were clumsy, awkward—all of which I found annoyingly adorable,” Arthur added, and Merlin smiled, even though he could feel tears tightening his throat. “But I could tell you weren’t happy,” Arthur continued. “And now—when I see you using your magic—all of that awkwardness disappears. You’re so graceful and beautiful and powerful.”

“I don’t care,” Merlin started, but Arthur shushed him again.

“Your magic is a part of you, Merlin. Removing it would be like cutting off one of your arms. You wouldn’t be whole without it.” Arthur swallowed, and his voice was thick when he said, “If you gave it up—you would spend the rest of your life regretting it.”

“I’m sorry,” Merlin managed, tears finally spilling over.

“I’m not. Not sorry I met you. Not sorry we went on this mad adventure together.” Arthur lifted Merlin’s chin, kissing him, brushing away Merlin’s tears. “I guess this time, we just weren’t meant to spend a lifetime together.”

“I’ll never forget you,” Merlin promised, and Arthur nodded, holding Merlin tight in his arms.

**

Merlin couldn’t stand saying good-bye to Arthur the next morning. Buttercup appeared, and she clung to Arthur’s tunic, sobbing. Arthur gently detached her, holding her in his hand.

“You’ll take care of Merlin for me, won’t you?” he asked, and she nodded, sniffing, promising that she would.

Merlin stayed hunched in the bed, not looking up when Arthur came over to him. Sighing, Arthur kissed him one last time, and then walked out the door, closing it softly behind him. Buttercup sank down next to Merlin, her little wings drooping. Arthur had left the sword and the armor, and Merlin stared at it for a long time. At last he got up, dressed, and went to the hall. Cliodhna was sitting on her throne.

“Merlin,” she greeted him warmly. “Rest assured that Arthur made it safely home.”

Merlin tried to smile but ended up choking back a sob instead.

“Come, Merlin. Do not be sad. You are a creature of magic. It is a gift to be explored and treasured.” She waved her arm, and a gilded chair appeared next to her. “Sit by me. Take my hand, and I will show you marvelous enchantments.”

Merlin did as she asked, feeling the burn of magic when their hands touched. Cliodhna showed him many wonderful spells, and he practiced them, but his magic didn’t seem the same as it had the day before—duller, no longer humming joyfully inside him. Cliodhna finally gave his hand a sympathetic squeeze and told him to take Buttercup and explore the castle, so Merlin trailed out of the hall, aimlessly climbing one of the winding staircases.

There were many lovely things in the castle—an entire library of spell books, enchanted gardens filled with beautiful flowers and birds, rooms decorated with sparkling gemstones. But Merlin couldn’t bring himself to care about any of it.

They ended up outside, standing on one of the turrets. Merlin spotted a dark shape flying towards the castle. As it drew nearer, he realized it was the dragon that he had met in the meadow—it felt like a lifetime ago, although it had been only a few days. The dragon alighted on the stones. “Greetings,” it said, inclining its head.

“Hello,” Merlin muttered. Buttercup had flown into his pocket upon the appearance of the dragon, and she peeked out cautiously.

“It appears congratulations are in order,” the dragon continued. “I have heard that when the Jabberwock was killed and the spell ended, Anfauglir the Black’s power was so diminished that he shrank to the size of a pin and then disappeared.” It sniffed. “Of course, it was sloppy of him to choose a poem with the way to kill the monster written right into it. If he had asked my advice, I’d have suggested he delve into Greek mythology—Polyphemus, Scylla, Charybdis—not so easy to get rid of _them_.” The dragon sighed. “But, of course, my opinion was unsolicited. Typical.” It narrowed its eyes. “As for you—your magic has returned. Not that it was ever gone—simply misplaced.”

“At first it was wonderful,” Merlin said, “but now…” He trailed off, shrugging.

The dragon examined its claws. “I’m not surprised. After all, he was the reason you were given it in the first place.”

“You mean Arthur?”

“Of course I mean Arthur,” the dragon snapped. It drew forth a coin and handed it to Merlin.

“What’s this?” Merlin asked, turning it over in his fingers.

“It happens to be a 1933 British penny. It would fetch at least forty-thousand pounds at auction.” The dragon ruffled its wings. “I have quite an extensive collection, you know. Numismatics always has been a hobby of mine. Why only the other day, I managed to locate an 1878 Morgan silver dollar. Quite a find, I must say, and—”

“But why are you giving this to me?” Merlin broke in, puzzled.

The dragon huffed, annoyed at being interrupted. “Luckily for you, I am willing to sacrifice that rare piece of antiquity so that you can return to your better half.”

“But wouldn’t Cliodhna send me back if I asked?”

“Merlin,” the dragon said, in a slightly condescending tone, “fairies are drawn to magic. They thrive off of it. The queen is most eager to have you stay.”

“Oh. _Oh_.” Merlin clasped the coin tightly. “Then was she lying about my magic?” he asked hopefully.

“Not entirely. It will indeed diminish if you return.” The dragon flexed its wings. “But I should think it will be there still for you to find.” It rose into the air.

“Wait!” Merlin cried. “How do I use the coin? How do I get back?”

The dragon hovered. “I shall refer you to the children’s book by L. Frank Baum, turned into a classic of American cinema in 1939 and directed by Victor Fleming.”

“The Wizard of Oz?”

“Precisely,” the dragon said. “I’m sure you can figure it out from there.” And it flew off, turning a little summersault before disappearing behind the castle.

**

Fairyland was apparently in a different time zone than Britain, as Merlin discovered when he found himself in Arthur’s bedroom in the dead of night and promptly tripped over a soccer ball, slamming his knee into a chair. “Ow,” he muttered, hopping about.

“Dad?” a sleepy mutter came from the bed, and then a lamp flicked on, and Arthur was staring at him. “ _Merlin_?”

Arthur’s hair was rumpled from sleep, but his eyes were red, as though he had been crying.

“Hi,” Merlin said, shuffling his feet, suddenly nervous. He clambered slowly onto the bed, but he needn’t have worried, for Arthur grabbed him, pinned him to the pillows, and kissed him.

“Merlin,” Arthur breathed again, and he traced Merlin’s mouth with his fingers. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, I got to thinking,” Merlin said, smiling up at Arthur, “and I realized that fairyland didn’t have waffles or crossword puzzles or football matches.”

“But your magic…”

“You said that I wouldn’t be whole without it. But the truth is—” He took a deep breath. “The truth is I wouldn’t be whole without you.”

Arthur smiled—a beautiful, happy smile that Merlin wanted to keep forever. “Yeah?” he said softly, and Merlin kissed him again.

“Yeah.”

Another kiss, and then Arthur started licking along his collarbone, his fingers slipping into Merlin’s pants to—

“Merlin, I’m hungry!”

Arthur yelped and rolled away, jerking up the blanket to cover himself. “Buttercup!”

Buttercup landed on the bed, bouncing on the mattress. “You promised I could have some honey, Merlin! And soda pop! I want to try some!”

“Are you insane, Merlin?” Arthur hissed. “What were you thinking?”

“She wanted to come,” Merlin whispered back. “I couldn’t just leave her behind.”

Groaning, Arthur slumped down. “What are we going to do with her?”

“She promised to be good. Didn’t you, Buttercup?”

Buttercup nodded vigorously. She flew over to sit on Arthur’s pillow, petting his hair. “Aren’t you glad to see me?”

“Of course I am,” Arthur said. “Just surprised that you would want to leave your home.”

“I want to be with you and Merlin!” Buttercup wailed, on the verge of tears.

Arthur gave Merlin a pointed look that said clearly that whatever trouble Buttercup managed to get herself into, it was on Merlin’s head and not his. Then he smiled at Buttercup and offered his hand for her to stand on. “Of course I’m glad you’re here,” he repeated, and Buttercup’s wings quivered with happiness before she flew off, attracted by the silver chain hanging from the lamp. She grabbed it, and the light went out. Buttercup gasped and bounced up, pulling it again. The light came on. Delighted, she kept pulling, the light flickering on and off.

“You are not getting any soda, though,” Arthur said firmly. “The last thing you need is more sugar.”

**

Merlin had brought the spell book back with him, but he found that he couldn’t read the words anymore, although he could still do some magic—little things like lighting a candle or making stoplights turn green when he was in a hurry. And when Arthur picked up one of his father’s fencing foils in the basement, he practically put out an eye.

“Guess I’ll have to practice like a normal person,” he said ruefully, putting an arm around Merlin and tugging him in for a kiss.

Merlin leaned against him, feeling Buttercup land on his shoulder. “Something tells me you’ll be a quick study,” he said.

“Mmm, maybe so,” Arthur murmured, kissing his ear.

“Did you find it, Arthur?” Buttercup asked impatiently.

“Yes, I did.” Arthur untangled himself from Merlin and went over to a box he had pulled out from a pile. “Luckily, my father’s old record player still works.” He took out the record, put it on, and set the needle down. A few scratchy seconds, and then The Foundations broke forth:

“Why do you build me up, build me up, Buttercup, baby, just to let me down…”

And they did, indeed, live happily ever after.

 

~The End~

 

Note: The riddles are not mine—all come from other sources, including _The Hobbit_. The name “Anfauglir” also belongs to Tolkien. The title is from the poem “The Walrus and the Carpenter,” by Lewis Carroll:

“The time has come,” the Walrus said,  
“To talk of many things:  
Of shoes—and ships—and sealing-wax—  
Of cabbages—and kings—  
And why the sea is boiling hot—  
And whether pigs have wings.”


End file.
